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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25116190">Burned Beneath the Skin</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_mermaid/pseuds/Glass_mermaid'>Glass_mermaid</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Angst, Dark, F/M, Inspired by Aphrodite and Hephaestus, Mutual Pining, Obsessive Kylo Ren, Pain, Pining, References to Ancient Greek Religion &amp; Lore, Romance, Sex, Sexual Tension</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:22:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,938</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25116190</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_mermaid/pseuds/Glass_mermaid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The merest glimpse of her face would drive mortals to murder, the merest drift of her maddening perfume would drive the sanest of men to the pinnacle of insanity. Rey, Goddess of Love, is alone in her temple save for the scarred, miserable God of the Forge, Kylo Ren, the immortal who haunts her steps.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kylo Ren/Rey, Poe Dameron/Finn, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, mentioned briefly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>116</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Burned Beneath the Skin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, the Reylo fandom quite frankly terrifies me. The amount of incredible authors within it is intimidating to say the least, but nothing ventured nothing gained, so here is my little piece for the incredible fandom. </p><p>Really just a descriptive jaunt into angsty greek gods for no apparent reason, and because I like a Kylo Ren who angsts. The gangs all here! We've got Rey as Aphrodite, Ben as Hephaestus, Hux as Aries, Phasma as Artemis and so on. See who else is mentioned!  </p><p>Inspired by an old episode of Hercules I think I remember.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>Every night Kylo Ren returns from his forge to his inner quarters, mind still ringing with rhythmic blows against iron, steel, copper and gold, nostrils still flaring with the scent of smoke and sweat, body still aching with the force of a thousand purposes, mind still clambering over a hundred inventions, ideas, and always, always, her.</p><p> </p><p>Wife. Companion. Consort. Temptress. Whore.</p><p> </p><p>His helpers from youth to elder, generation to generation, urge him to forget her and focus on his work and as the God of Fire, of artisans, he does the world no favor by pining for the hopeless. But the years pass by with the slow morass of a bog to his immortal eye, sucking more and more creativity and focus out of him with each passing day. He, the surly Kylo Ren, crippled Olympian, loses any desire to see to the mortal realm. He forgets his temples, his cathedrals fall to ruin. He does not answer their mortal prayers. He denies his gift to the blacksmiths and the jewelers and ignores their pleas for inspiration. He is spiteful and lonely. Why should he gift them with beauty when he is unable to have it for himself?</p><p> </p><p>Each time he retires to his empty bed, limping towards a soft palette after a day or a year or a century of toil, he lets the emptiness of his lonesome life consume him and gives in to the fruitless urge to dream of things that will never be.</p><p> </p><p>Sometimes he lifts his eyes to the darkness of his chambers and imagines her splayed out on the jet blackness of his sheets, a vision of unattainable beauty within the ugliness of his world. Her brown curls spill across his bedding, shining brighter than even the finest of his silver, looking softer than the most malleable of his gold. Her eyes watch him, heavy lidded with perpetual desire and intent, more pure than the gentlest of skies and more wicked than the most deceitful of Poseidon’s seas. Lips plush and pink and ripe for sin curl temptingly upwards in a brilliant smile as she murmurs his name and he comes unbound.</p><p> </p><p>Sometimes she is prostrate, shackled at delicate wrist and ankle by his creations and splayed out upon his bed in all her womanly glory. At his approach she writhes and arches, twists and turns, each movement a perfectly executed dance to inflame his insatiable lust for her. Her hazel eyes are always upon him, Kylo Ren, scarred God of the Forge as he comes to her to claim her as his own.</p><p> </p><p>Her golden skin glows in his darkness, arms draped indolently and legs slowly parting. The transparent silk of her hazy garments fans his frothing lust as she beckons him forward and opens her body to him. The scent of plums and heady wine and hyacinth fills his head along with the dizzying aroma of her godly desire, an ambrosia more potent than poison as it laces through his blood.</p><p> </p><p>Other times, when he is truthful to himself and the scarred vision of a God he sees in his reflection, when he comes to her she is frightened, repulsed and scornful. Even within the cage of his own immortal mind he is pathetic, falling upon hands and knees and begging her to allow him a touch, a caress, a kiss, anything to stave off the centuries of loneliness he has endured without her. He would beg, if only she were here to beg before.</p><p> </p><p>She is Rey, Goddess of Beauty; the most unattainable of immortal creatures, the most riveting of the goddesses. She is love, she is purity and sin, blushing innocence and carnal corruption and she will never truly be his.</p><p> </p><p>Kylo imagines his sooty hands, rough from work and toil, brushing over the perfection of her shimmering body with a sort of detached agony, watching in his minds eye as he clumsily tears her ethereal robe, leaves fingerprints of sooty black on her flawless skin, tangles and pulls on the artful tendrils of her brown hair and mars the delicate gold of her slender thighs with rough bruises.</p><p> </p><p>She would look at him with contempt and disgust until he shames himself into releasing her from the confines of his deepest dreams and comes back to himself.</p><p> </p><p>Even in his own fantasies he cannot attain her.</p><p> </p><p>But night after night, day after day, century after century he pines for her, lusts after her and obsesses over her, stealing and hording his thoughts until they are all that sustain him. With each strike of his hammer he tries to tamp down his lust. With each billow of the forge it engulfs him anew.</p><p> </p><p>With each request he receives from his godly kin – the same that have always spurned him for his sallow scarred face and mercurial temper – for enchanted weaponry and armor, his impossible hopes are renewed. He finds his reward from every appearance of the gods and goddesses in the solitude of his mountain to be the meager scraps of gossip he receives from his finicky relations.</p><p> </p><p>When Phasma comes to him, asking him for arrows and paying him with a rare gift of Hind’s bone, she stands in her radiant hunting gear, locked within her amazonian mortal form for her appearances in their realm and looks on his work in awe.</p><p> </p><p>“None are as skilled as you, Kylo,” she admits, blonde pulled away from her beautiful squared face. She brings with her the scent of pine and cool rain, of adrenaline and blood. It stings his senses enticingly, gifting him with images of damp forests and the anticipation of the kill.</p><p> </p><p>“I am my work,” he murmurs coolly.</p><p> </p><p>“As are we all,” she agrees.</p><p> </p><p>She comes closer, the tilt of her head proud, the length of her spine firm as she watches him craft.</p><p> </p><p>“Have you had no word from Hux?” she murmurs. “He is sniffing out bloodshed again, as is his wont. He shall wish for weapons soon and he will have no other but you craft them.”</p><p> </p><p>“He will come.”</p><p> </p><p>The Goddess of the Hunt smiles coolly, leaving his side for awe of a row of shields hung across his walls. What enchantments had he wrought within their elaborate scrolling? What treasures and horrors would be unleashed once they were gifted? Further along, she kneels to admire a golden spear, studying the perfect craftsmanship for a long moment. Turning, she than studies the scarred fire god who single-mindedly wields his hammer. Glancing about her, blue eyes approving, she thinks to wave off the silence.</p><p> </p><p>“Rose still pines for Finn, who does not come as quickly as he should when released from the grasp of Poe.”</p><p> </p><p>“Even death himself has found a mate,” he broods, and the huntress nods.</p><p> </p><p>“Perhaps he struck a bargain with Rey for the love of fair Finn. She does so enjoy such things.”</p><p> </p><p>If she noticed the sudden falter of his hammer she did not question it. If she saw the sudden tensing of his muscles she did not say. If she caught the wild misery in his eyes, she did not care.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” he merely states, and he grants Phasma silver tipped arrows that deliver a painless death to the creatures of the forest she holds in such high regard for the mere mention of her name.</p><p> </p><p>When Hux comes to him it is in his godly glory, the red blood lust of his aura reaching and tearing at the reality surrounding him, handsome face and armor painted in the eternal blood of the favored fallen. His eyes are black with the gift of power and burning with pride as he demands a new style of armor that would put Luke himself to shame. Kylo Ren begins to gather the necessary accouterments. He can feel the pull of anger behind him, the lust for battle stirring viciously in his own blood. Hux’s very presence could inspire legions to serve him and the Forge God stifles the urge to bend beneath the power of the other immortal. Such was the nature of their full powers. Each one was subject to the power of the other but the vicious drag of murder and destruction was a potent lure.</p><p> </p><p>“Make it worthy of my highest officers! Emblazon it with my insignia so that even the mightiest of my enemies will quake and fall before my warriors when they see my mark, knowing it is <em>I </em>who guide the winning hand!” he laughs in a voice of clanging swords and battle cries.</p><p> </p><p>“It shall be done,” Kylo Ren tells the fierce warrior god.</p><p> </p><p>His godly aura shredding at the walls as he moves, a dull roar echoing, Hux casts a haughty glance at the God of the Forge.</p><p> </p><p>“And you? What shall you have in return?” he sneers.</p><p> </p><p>“For one, keep your war far from my forge,” Kylo frowns.</p><p> </p><p>“Worry not brother. It is far off in Cyprus.”</p><p> </p><p>Keeping the tremor of longing from his voice, Kylo turns from his selection of metals to Hux.</p><p> </p><p>“The Goddess of Love will have issue with its coming. Her highest temples stand erected there.”</p><p> </p><p>Hux scoffs, scornful of her anger and looks on the other God with a jaundiced eye.</p><p> </p><p>Kylo stands awkwardly, immensely tall and graceless, the shame of his kin with his twisted leg and half scarred face. Even in his mortal form as he stands now he maintains his immortal scars, unable to ever cast off the chains of his disgrace. Unwanted by his mother, thrown from Olympus and left to delve in the shadows of smoke and soot and darkness.</p><p> </p><p>“What does Love know of War? She would do well to learn her place answering the foolish pleas of the lonely and hideous rather than taking umbrage as I do my mighty work.”</p><p> </p><p>And Kylo says nothing more and creates Hux his armor. But when five years have passed every soldier that had worn the armor to battle is afflicted with a strange malady of the blood that weakens them till they can no longer hold a sword in the mighty god’s name. They wither and then they die, and the God of War must find new fanatics even as he curses Ren's name.</p><p> </p><p>Amilyn, Goddess of Wisdom asks for a broach to adorn her temple robes, something simple and plain to rest by her shoulder. Her rare cases of frivolity are to be acknowledged with due importance. Not a goddess to cater to vanity she states that it is to be an admirable piece and suitably useful, but does not require beauteous stones or braided gold.</p><p> </p><p>“Please,” she sighs, “make it tasteful, unlike any gaudy trinket my sisters may choose.”</p><p> </p><p>Kylo keeps his eyes upon the sword he is currently crafting as he listens, his voice low and solemn.</p><p> </p><p>“Your sisters? What news of them?”</p><p> </p><p>Scoffing at the thought of the other goddesses, the Goddess of Wisdom shakes her head, her pale curls quivering beneath her helm with the force of her displeasure. Glancing at Kylo with sharp grey eyes he is suddenly brushed with the force of her immense knowledge, the scent of dusty scrolls and warm wax soothing him. Whatever she sees does not impress her. She turns up her prim nose and shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>“What of them?”</p><p> </p><p>“Last I recall,” he murmurs, “Artemis came to me for arrows. Have they serviced her well?”</p><p> </p><p>“What do I care for hunting and sport, Kylo? Let her run through the woods as brazen and shameless as her amazons, it matters little to one such as I.”</p><p> </p><p>Frowning, Amilyn looks again at the God of Fire, whose very aura seems poised for something. He appears to be struggling to control it as the limits of his mortal body with its awkward, lanky height and mismatched features become blurred and darkness edges through. It eats at the shadows untouched by the fire of his forge. She can feel the drag of it like fingers grasping her skin. She shudders, cold, and senses danger.</p><p> </p><p>“And Rey?”</p><p> </p><p>He breathes the question, centuries of want bleeding from him.</p><p> </p><p>“Have you not seen your wife?” Amilyn shrugs, eyeing him curiously for she can see <em>all</em> now.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” he mourns. “Never.”</p><p> </p><p>She studies him, wondering which strategy in her arsenal she should enact. It is well known that Rey's unwilling hand was given to Kylo to stave off war among the kingdom of Olympus. She had not known that the youngest goddesses ambivalence towards the God of the Forge had meant that she had never come to her husband at all. A flighty chit of roses and myrtle and swan feathers enrapturing all she encounters and leaving them with naught but empty hands.  Amilyn settles for simple truth.</p><p> </p><p>“Rey is as she has always been, wrapped within the conflict of her own powers, Lust and Love. She still finds such delight in the essence of mortals, puppets on her eagerly pulling strings as she leads them to love and destroys them with heartache. A child really, trapped in a body of such eager sin.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” he said, and she catches a trace of sadness in his deep voice. It tastes cool and coppery against her tongue.</p><p> </p><p>He makes Amilyn a silver broach engraved with simple, repetitious designs and grants it the power to mirror to her the worthiest of her worshipers so that she may grant favor only to those deserving, and spare herself the search.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>Still she does not come to him.</p><p> </p><p>He designs her a thousand necklaces of every imaginable fashion, laden with jewels and precious qualities. He makes her a hundred pairs of earrings to grace her seashell ears. He crafts bracelets and rings, tiaras and hairpieces, each more beautiful than the last. Each one, he swears to himself, will bring her to him soon. She will sense him, know him. She will come.</p><p> </p><p>And each one he tosses into one of the catacomb vaults deep within his forge when another day passes without her.</p><p> </p><p>He begins to create silent homages to Rey to fill the empty void within himself, reworking her beautiful form into statue and bust and leaving them within her temples in secrecy so that the world may bask in her beauty for him.</p><p> </p><p>He keeps for himself but one bust, a paltry substitute of copper to match her curls, because he does not trust himself with her full form. Even the lifeless recreation of her beauty mesmerizes him, haunts him, and in weaker moments he is drawn to it, brushing his dirty thumb across the curve of her remembered lip, angering when it cannot respond to his touch. He is alone, with the crackle of fire whispering in his ear, the ringing of his hammer the only song to sing to, the shadows on the wall his only companions as the years roll on. Such loneliness threatens to engulf his mind and sends him spiraling further into obsessive devotion and misery, turning to his work as a last salvation as he heaps the force of his thwarted passions upon the forge.</p><p> </p><p>And every night he drives himself closer to the brink of self destruction as he imagines her beautiful body beneath his, her whispers in his ear, her mouth tasting his with unclaimed fervor. He swears that he will devote the entirety of his immortal life to her service if she gives him but one kind word. He will continue to craft for her the finest of trinkets, the most powerful of treasures, the most beautiful of possessions, if only in the hopes that he can catch a glimpse of her once more.</p><p> </p><p>He takes to skulking out of his cavern and lingering within her temples where he places his gifts, invisible to the eyes of mortals as he waits in the shadows for her to appear. It takes a full mortal year for him to catch more than a maddening glimpse of her sparkling appearance and with each turn of the season his feels misery reaching up and swallowing him whole. If he was a human he would have wasted away long ago as the heavy years of longing leeched him dry.  </p><p> </p><p>He places his finest recreation yet within the great temple of Cythera, that of the goddess lying on her side, sensuous and indifferent of her effect on mortals while sparrows and doves nestle lovingly near her feet. He steps back within the shadows to wait.</p><p> </p><p>He has just begun to lose hope and is intent on traveling back to his sanctuary in a burst of bitter flame when she appears in her full aura of soft gold, smelling of sensuality and hyacinth, plums and desire and looking more beautiful then he had ever remembered. He hates himself all the more when he sees that even his masterful creations of gold and silver have not captured the essence of her loveliness. He is sick within himself, lamenting even his own inability to do this sanctified creature justice. He is the God of Artisans and he has failed her. </p><p> </p><p>It is a dangerous gambit she plays to appear even in the sanctity of her chamber in her full radiance. The goddess is in the mortal realm where her merest passing in full glory would leave an orgy of lust and carnality in her wake. The merest glimpse of her visage would drive mortals to murder. The merest drift of her maddening perfume would drive the sanest of men to the pinnacle of insanity. She inspires obsession in the briefest glimpses of her full power but she is alone save for Kylo Ren. She is in danger as he lurks in the shadows. She <em>is</em> danger. His mouth dries and he sinks to his knees, hidden by the darkness, as she props a golden hand on her hip and tosses her hair over her shoulder in a simple, womanly gesture with devastating effect. His eyes feed hungrily on the gossamer mesh of her outer robe, tracing the high curves of her breasts, the indent of her small waist, the flare of her slender hips and the length of her legs with a collapsing heart. His desire rages rampant and he is suddenly aware of why Poe had stolen Finn from his harvest gathering and taken him against his will.</p><p> </p><p>Within this moment, captured by her stillness and the perfect beauty of her face, Kylo Ren wants to force her into his arms and hide her away from the world that needs her. The strength of his own wishes compels him to move forward, take her, touch her, <em>own</em> <em>her</em>, but he remains where he is and feels his soul shatter with the restraint.</p><p> </p><p>Hux is nothing without her. She is the reason mortal men wage wars. She is the reason hero’s throw themselves upon their own swords. She is the reason why the very gods themselves had nearly slew one another to claim such a vision.</p><p> </p><p>Impatiently, she taps her small foot and turns from him, seeing his gift for the first time and giving a delighted coo. The sound, just a murmur in the incense-laden stillness of her marble hall, shakes him to the core as desire floods him. She saunters up to her likeness and the sway of her hips and the light grace of her walk has his breath snagging and catching on his dry throat. He is suffocating with need. Kneeling she strokes her fingers gently over the statues arm and behind her Kylo bites back a groan of hopeless ecstasy.</p><p> </p><p>Such was her power unleashed in the privacy of her domain where no mortals were in attendance and she thought she was in privacy. Rey is more dangerous in her intended solitude then Hux in high fury with a legion of warriors behind him.</p><p> </p><p>Kylo Ren can feel his lust and obsession choking him, even a God himself, as he stares haplessly at the Goddess who has now reclined against a pile of plump pillows and was studying his faultless homage to her with a curious moue on her sublime face.</p><p> </p><p><em>Take her</em>, his mind whispers. <em>Force her.</em></p><p> </p><p>And he wants to, Tartarus how he wants to… But he cannot taint his adoration for her with such crudity. He would rather undergo a thousand more centuries with nothing but the memory of her lithe body reclining against the cushions to warm him than force his hideous self upon her beauty and steal a part of her for himself.</p><p> </p><p>He is devastated. He in enraged. To have her so near and to gain nothing but more pain for the love of her is <em>maddening</em>. His existence is a torment without end and he tires of it.</p><p> </p><p>With the force of a furious howl curling within his throat, Kylo Ren takes one last, desperate look at the goddess before damning the consequences and disappearing in a haze of red flame. He cannot hold himself back if he does not leave <em>now</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He appears instantaneously back within the smoky hell of his forge, releasing his scream of rage and frustration to the forgiving stone walls and slamming his powerful fists so hard into the floor that it cracks and splits beneath him with a tremendous quake.</p><p> </p><p>“Mercy,” he begs aloud to no one, “release me from this curse.”</p><p> </p><p>But the only salvation he can receive would come from the very being he has just left behind.</p><p> </p><p>Within the confines of her temple, Rey sits upright with a start, hearing the momentary roar of flame but turning to see nothing but shadow.</p><p> </p><p>“I know you,” she murmurs to the silence, and the very walls sigh in bliss.</p><p> </p><p>She turns her gaze to the newest statue of herself, awed by the flawless craftsmanship so artfully displayed to her enamoring eyes. Such gifts have been appearing within her marble halls for years and always she has accepted such dues as her right. Though curious as to where these silent likenesses had come from, her fickle mind was constantly besieged by the thousands of mortals clamoring for her favor and her attention was diverted by all who called to her.</p><p> </p><p>Now however, her inquisitiveness consumes her as intensely as her own sexuality for that had been no normal flare of torchlight behind her. Sensuously, she slides to her feet and drifts back towards the supine statue, kneeling gracefully before it and wrapping her silken arms around its neck.</p><p> </p><p>“Show me,” she moans and presses her blushing lips to the gold mirror of them.</p><p> </p><p>Drawing away, the goddess tilts her head and closes her eyes, understanding now the depth of longing she senses ingrained within each golden curve. She is the Queen of Lust and Devotion. Sensing within this gift a loneliness no mortal could comprehend she breathes the one name that had echoed throughout the fibers of the statues creation. It aches within her bones, throbs within her blood. </p><p> </p><p>“Kylo.”</p><p> </p><p>And the marble of her temple shudders, rapturous.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>She appears within the dank and dismal heat of his mighty forge in her mortal form, still more beautiful by any standard than any other. Her delicate feet wander daintily over the rough stone floor, carefully avoiding the cracks splitting the stone. The smoke does not burn her eyes nor cloud her nose, instead drifting away from her as if longing to touch her beauty but not daring. Within the darkness her skin shimmers with golden freckles, her hair shines, her eyes glow. The scarred God of Fire does not see her, so immersed within his work as he strikes a sheet of copper furiously and the Goddess of Beauty takes a moment to examine her admirer.</p><p> </p><p>He is the very antithesis to herself even in his mortal form as he is now, hard where she is soft, solid where she is yielding, straight where she is curved, ugly where she is beautiful. Even Hux, with his blood red hair and brazen temper does not oppose her so much. Kylo Ren's hair is black as a ravens wing, sallow skin reddened and bronzed by fire and soot, huge muscles clenching and bunching as he rains blow after blow upon the hapless piece beneath his hammer. He would have been a beautiful God indeed had the scars not marred him so, had his features not been mismatched somehow between his large nose and crooked mouth. His masculinity is fierce as he reins down blows, seemingly at war with the supple grace of his hands. She has seen firsthand the art that those masterful hands could create and becomes more intrigued at the thought of them upon her own lush form.</p><p> </p><p>Rey tilts her head, hair spilling down her shoulder, and the air within the forge is infused with the perfume of her immortal body. The god stiffens, stilling, before turning towards her with a hint of trepidation hardening the thrust of his long jaw. When he catches sight of her, the grip on his hammer tightens and he draws himself upwards, chin working as though he bit back words.</p><p> </p><p>Catching his dark eyes she sees the echoes of a sorrowful love over which even she has little control. It frightens her, thrills her, fascinates her. Scars web down half of his face and continue down his body and as she watches keenly, he seems to draw in on himself, ashamed within his own skin.</p><p> </p><p>“Rey,” he says in a deep voice of flashing sparks and hammer blows. She can hear the clang of metal ringing across the walls, smell the metal drifting from the heat of his body. </p><p> </p><p>His lust for her inflames her own as she senses it, such is her nature, and she lingers over the delicious sensations, feeling her nipples peak and heat build between her thighs. Around her, the walls of his cavern are aching.</p><p> </p><p>Behind his eyes, his carefully neutral pose, she senses his want more clearly then any before for who could feel more fiercely then a God? Drifting closer she casts a dismissive eye over the work he is creating, far more intrigued by the God himself, and sighs softly.</p><p> </p><p>She feels his knees tremble at her exhalation and turns to him, gossamer robes falling to bear her shoulders artfully. He smells of masculinity and metal, of smoke and soot and strain, and his eyes devour her even as he restrains himself. A thread, a thread is all that holds him back.</p><p> </p><p>“I ask a boon of you,” she breathes.</p><p> </p><p><em>Anything, anything you ask. I will scale Mount Olympus and cast the god king, Luke himself to Tartarus if you will but speak once more, </em>Kylo thinks hazily, an erotic delirium nearly overwhelming him.</p><p> </p><p>She is close enough that he could crush her within his heavy embrace if he so chose. He could smother her within him, absorb her into his skin and devour her being.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you wish of me?” he gasps instead, trying to swallow his madness as he watches her saunter away, hips swaying, breasts bouncing. She casts a look over her freckled shoulder, glancing down at his obvious desire for her with a coy blush. He shakes and trembles, holding himself back with guilt. He wonders if this is how the mortals feel when they die.</p><p> </p><p>“A piece,” she speaks, a butterfly soft hand coming up and sliding over her perfect collarbone, “of gold and stones to rest near my heart.”</p><p> </p><p>Kylo hears his own heart catch within his chest, feeling an agony like no other when she smiles at him again.</p><p> </p><p>“It will be done,” he chokes out, shaky and miserable.</p><p> </p><p>His voice trembles with the longing of centuries.</p><p> </p><p>“And payment? What will you ask of me?” she sweeps close to him and he knows at that moment that if she touched him he would shame himself.</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing,” he moans, instead of voicing a thousand wants and desires that all encircle her. “I only ask that you come to me again.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh?” she queries, eyes darkening with something he cannot name. Curiosity, or perhaps scorn. He will not recognize it. </p><p> </p><p>“That is all I desire,” he breathes, fire roaring within him. It licks at his skin, scorching him within.</p><p> </p><p>Rey nods gently, the mere movement charging the air with sex and yearning.</p><p> </p><p>“I cannot deny such a selfless request,” she murmurs, glancing at him in such a way that he knows she knows of his true desires. Her long lashes drift over her cheek as she closes her eyes for a moment of reflection and the God of the Forge bites back a cry of frustration as his desire became painful.</p><p> </p><p>“I will return,” she whispers, the sound of skin on skin and breaking hearts, and turns from him. “Soon.”</p><p> </p><p>She disappears in a flash of sparkling light and suddenly bereft, Kylo fights off the disturbing urge to weep ungodly tears of thwarted rage at his unfulfilled passions and instead reaches a shaking hand out to his forge and hammer once more. He collapses to his knees and sinks his hands deep within the coals, grasping for himself, ruined.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Kylo will not gift her any of the thousand trinkets he had already made as they would pale in comparison to the wonder he wanted to create. He thinks of fashioning her a magnificent trinket of heavy beauty, elaborate links of gold festooned with glittering gems of amethyst and pearl, something to trail over her smooth skin like weighty rope but light as air. He thinks of creating a deceptively simple heart of sapphire and ruby, impregnating it with binding magic to chain her to him. He thinks of a bare silver chain interspersed with onyx and rubies to stand out starkly against her skin so that the world would know that he had put it there.</p><p> </p><p>But he settles on none of these bare, base, pathetic things.</p><p> </p><p>He starts the day after she had visited him, gathering the edge of a moonbeam, the froth of a windswept wave, the iridescent eye of an albino peacock feather, the salt of a snow drops tear, and the glow of a sunset in order to fashion the goddess her gift. Night and day he works upon the delicate piece, forging within it his blood and pain, capturing his own desires within a ruby red stone he expertly shatters into fifty even beads. He then weaves them through the elaborate threads of metal with a hundred other seed sized gems, a rainbow of delicate hues with only his bloodstone to temper them. He imbues it with the power to shield her from the poison of Hind’s blood, knowing the jealous hands of the other goddesses and giving her some measure of protection.</p><p> </p><p>It takes a year to complete. A year in which she does not come to him again.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>When next he catches a glimpse of her in that same heart stopping mortal form that would still drive the very purest to the utmost bestial for want of a glimpse of more, she is smiling cheekily at Hux, her brother-lover, silken hands wrapped around that ones arm in a touch that nearly drives him mad with envy. It is a celebration on Mount Olympus and even he has been ordered to attend, more for his skill at the forge than for want of his company. He brings elaborate gifts for Luke, or Leia, and will not meet their disapproving eyes but slinks back to the shadows and seethes at his wife's blatant infidelity. He flays himself on the agony of seeing her, the ripple of her laughter across the hall a whip tearing into his skin. He catches her eye across the room and she meets his gaze, catching her lower lip in her teeth as her lashes flutter down coyly. </p><p> </p><p><em>Foolish, vapid child</em>, he seethes, hating her as much as he loves her. Did she know <em>nothing</em> of how he felt? <em>How</em> could the deity of love itself torment him so? He will have no part of this torture. </p><p> </p><p>He shrinks back into the shadows and disappears in a burst of brimstone and flame, blood lust racing over him. His servants are nowhere to be found, which is just as well as Kylo begins to vent his rage upon his surroundings, smashing brilliantly polished shields, shattering magical swords, crushing enchanted helms and destroying a thousand years of invaluable work for even the weakest of release for all his thwarted affection.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Vicious</em> harlot, to toss my agony aside as I wait like a <em>fool</em> for her to come to me!” he roars, his mighty hammer cracking through an array of magnificent bracers. They crash around him, cacophonous, a shrieking rain of metal and misery he brings down upon himself.</p><p> </p><p>“I come to you now,” a breathy voice emerges from behind him.</p><p> </p><p>Staggering to a halt, Kylo snaps his eyes towards the Goddess of Love where she stands, shed of her mortal body and before him in all her glory. He shakes with rage and destruction, releasing his own mortal form and freeing his aura because he will hide from what he is no more. He is molten. He is ravenous. The walls of his forge quake ominously, the metal around him groans and bends as together their powers strike and coil at one another.</p><p> </p><p>Kylo Ren, God of Fire, his aura drifting like grey smoke, stands within his cave before Rey. His face is handsome where it is un-scarred, his hair falling in black tongues over his face and shoulders, eyes shifting strangely between gold, silver, copper and bronze, never settling upon one metal. He carries his weighty hammer in his hand as if preparing to strike her, his presence forcing upon her the flighty, prey-creature urge to draw away from a predator. His armor gleams in the dimness, its very artistry impressing even her expert eyes. She, embodiment of lust and love, as capricious as she is stunning, is struck by the sudden need to claim him, subdue him. She has witnessed his untethering of self and finds him <em>beautiful.</em>  </p><p> </p><p>“What do you desire, woman? Take your trinket and leave. Your fickle company suits me not,” he spits and snatches up the splendid necklace he has crafted, tossing it at her small feet.</p><p> </p><p>“What do <em>you</em> desire of me?” she asks again, a voice of cries of passion and moans of slaked lusts drifting headily across his ears. “Do you wish me to hide myself within my temples and await your summons? Would you have me bound and chained within these walls, subject to your every whim? What do you want of me, Kylo Ren, God of the Forge?”</p><p> </p><p>“What I desire you will not give, Rey. Leave me to my grief.”</p><p> </p><p>And just as quickly as his fury had swallowed him it releases him and the mighty god turns from her, still burnt, still aching with the pure want that only the ugly can possess for the beautiful. He hears her, the rustle of her delicate robe almost lost within the roar of the forge, bend and scoop his necklace off the floor, which shivers at the brush of her immortal fingertips. The very air is saturated with desire. Silence reins, the rustle of more fabric and the smell of fragrant plums and hyacinth grows stronger. Her delicate hand is suddenly grasping his bicep and desire floods his veins so sharply it burns, destroying him from within with rapture.</p><p> </p><p>“Come, look upon your work,” she breaths against his neck and despite himself he is hapless before her so he turns, legs giving way as he catches sight of her naked body.</p><p> </p><p>She stands before him, so perfectly beautiful that had he been mortal he would have been struck by the burning fever of madness and his breath would have stopped. Her hair coils wildly over her silken shoulders and over her delicate breasts, soft pink nipples peeking maddeningly through the chestnut tresses. His choker rests on her slender neck, the red stones of his lust winking wildly at him from the distance of her body. His snared eyes travel up over her immortal form and he nearly loses himself to that edge of mortal madness despite all his own power, his hands moving of their own volition to touch her.</p><p> </p><p>“I cannot bear…” he sobs, forcing his hands back only to have her glide forward and press her golden body fully against him, his head pressed to her flawless breast.</p><p> </p><p>Overwhelmed by an ecstasy so piercing it bleeds his soul out, the scarred Olympian pulls in a gasping breath and listens to the rapid beat of the heart of hearts beneath her soft breast. The heady scent of arousal that clings to her consumes him, engulfs him and he shudders, fearing for his immortality for surely even he cannot survive <em>this</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Release yourself,” she grants, and surging upwards he drags her tender form into his arms and crushes her lips to his, bruising and biting and bitter. Her lips taste of honeyed figs and clean waters and he devours them mercilessly. The soft strands of her hair feel like gossamer against his sooty hands. Her delicate flesh is bruising against the cold burn of his armor but she merely tips her beautiful head back and sighs with pleasure.</p><p> </p><p>He should have known that no form of sexuality would overwhelm the goddess of sex. Feeling besieged by her generous responses to his rough ministrations he seeks to calm himself, reclaim his head, his heart, and slow his pace but her power was more so than his and who could resist the Goddess of Love giving herself to them?</p><p> </p><p>She is tangling her fingers in his hair, tracing the scars down his face, her body as welcoming as it had been in his every hopeful fantasy. He thrusts them both to the floor of his forge and plunders her arching body with his hands and mouth, feeling her writhing and quivering against his fingers as tide after tide of pleasure ripples through her without her seeming to tire. Her hands wave through the air and suddenly he is as nude as she and those same hands were gripping him. The sudden deluge of bliss that shakes him is overwhelming and he groans and shudders against her fingers but she would not grant him release. She parts her thighs, opens her arms, and wraps those silken limbs around his crippled form. He pushed inside of her, as hot as molten iron, and the sheerest of ecstasy burns through him. Every thrust of his hips within her body is a never ending climax and he rides the edge of it with a desperate hunger even as she gasps his name, clinging to him and urging him on.</p><p> </p><p>Harder and higher till his very breath is screaming from his immortal lungs he takes her, her cries mingling with his own, and when he orgasms, exploding within her welcoming body, the very base of the mountain shakes with his spent passions.</p><p> </p><p>“Rey,” he breathes, as she lays soft and supine beneath him.</p><p> </p><p>“Slaked?” she murmurs, the flush of satisfied passion blooming in her perfect cheeks.</p><p> </p><p>“Never,” he replies and buries his face in her slender neck, his mouth reigning harsh kisses across her skin. The heat of each press leaves a red welt.</p><p> </p><p>She moans softly, and he feels the very echoes of the metal in his forge arch towards her.</p><p> </p><p>Why? Why had she come to him? How would he stave of the madness when she left? Treacherous, beautiful Rey… How could he bear her absence now that he had had the merest taste of her? He rubs his hands down her sides, leaving a trail of blackening soot upon her rib cage. The stench of metal clings to her body where he has touched her.</p><p> </p><p>“Why must I go?” she whispers into his ear and he groans, misery creeping swiftly in as he pins her beneath him with rough hands and lifts himself to meet her gaze.</p><p> </p><p>“I would trap you here for my eyes alone. I would burn myself into your skin and never release you and the realm of mortals would ebb away without you,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “I have already made the manacles to bind you, the chains to lock you. You would be <em>mine</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“I am yours,” she smiles softly, teeth white and even in her red mouth as she lies. “I am all. You cannot trap me. All want me, none own me. I am given, not taken.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wife,” he hisses, strangled as he presses his fingers tighter around her dainty wrists. He can feel the slender bones grind together beneath the force but she preens beneath his touch as though he is anointing her with oils. He lets go, dizzied with horror and hope, his craftsmen hands fluttering over her as though afraid to alight. “My wife.”</p><p> </p><p>“Husband,” she smiles contentedly, threading her fingers lightly through the jet black of his hair. She cards her fingers through the darkness and her fingers come away black with soot. She smears her fingers over her breast, stained and rapturous. “My husband.”</p><p> </p><p>Beneath her fingers the fire god shudders with the inevitable loss, destroyed within the heat of his own flames as endlessly he burns for that which he can never truly capture. He presses his mouth back to hers, tormented by her eager response as she arches once more against him, hot and pliant and patient beneath his savage hands, his hungry mouth.</p><p> </p><p>"Mine," she whispers into the smoky black strands of his hair, smiling.  </p><p> </p>
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